


Got good things, got you.

by writer_rambles



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, One Word Prompt Meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:51:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9496922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer_rambles/pseuds/writer_rambles
Summary: The tale of Billy Rocks and Goodnight Robicheaux as told by short snippets of stories.





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> These are as related or unrelated as you see fit.

**1\. Bullet**

“It's jammed,” Billy says, looking straight into Faraday’s eyes. He doesn’t know what’s heavier, Goodnight’s relief or the lie on his tongue.

 

**2\. Lesson**

“You need to concentrate, _mon cher_ ,” Goodnight rests his chin on Billy’s shoulder and guides Billy’s hands to help him line up the rifle.

“Your eyes are normally so much keener than this, what can possibly be distracting the stalwart Billy Rocks?”

“When I teach you to throw knives we will see how much you can focus with me all over you.”

Goodnight’s chuckle is right in Billy’s ear. “I look forward to it.”

 

**3\. Outcome**

A good outcome means a meal and a warm bed for another night; a bad outcome means a sleepless week as Goodnight nurses Billy back from another bullet wound.

 

**4\. Replacement**

After Rose Creek the owl is gone and Goodnight waits to meet its replacement in his nightmares. When Billy wakes up for the fifth night in the row with a gasped plea of “Goody” on his lips, Goodnight regrets his eagerness.

 

**5\. Melodramatic**

Goodnight swooned back onto the hardly-more-than-a-cot bed like it was the finest fainting couch England had to offer. “Oh my, Mr. Rocks,” he chittered, “the way you just twirl those knives of yours. You’re so _brave_.”

Billy heaved a sigh and fanned himself as he leaned against the wall. “But Mr. Robicheaux,” Billy said, poorly impersonating the strong southern accents of their admirers downstairs, “he has nothing on _you_.”

They looked at each other briefly before bursting out together in laughter.

 

**6\. Paranoia**

“I swear they’re over there talkin’ about me.”

“They are not talking about you.”

“Of course they are; look at them, laughin’ again,” Faraday grumbled, still a little wet from his unfortunate trip into the river that morning.

Vasquez rolled his eyes. “I think they have more important things to talk about than your little swim.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Vasquez gestured just in time for them both to see Goodnight lean over and press a kiss to Billy’s knuckles.

“Oh.”

 

**7\. Overindulge**

Billy doesn’t drink, not like the other men of their group. He’d much prefer to focus on his meal and Goodnight, until Goodnight is gone and then it’s just Billy and the bar.

 

**8\. Book**

“Is this some kind of joke,” Billy frowned, examining the book. He ran his hand over it reverently and Goodnight rubbed his chin nervously. They hardly knew each other and Goodnight wasn’t sure he hadn’t just insulted the one friendly face he knew within a hundred miles.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said and thought that maybe, well, I could teach you.”

Billy looked at Goodnight and any hostility in his eyes was tempered by hope.

 

**9\. Sustainability**

“A man cannot live off of gun fights alone.”  

Billy looked over at Goody over his plate. He said nothing but raised his eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t you start. You know I love watching you shoot, my dear, and there is no one more talented with their hands, but how long can we sustain this? If your eyes start to catch up to your age my charm will only get us so far.”

Billy scoffed and spoke around his meal, “You are assuming it gets us anywhere now.”

Goodnight clutched his heart. “Billy, you injure me,” he mourned.

Billy rolled his eyes but still set aside his plate. This was a signal for Goodnight to sit up and take the following conversation seriously – Billy hardly ever let go of an unfinished dinner.

Billy fiddled with his cuffs and Goodnight waited.

“Are you serious?”

“We are getting older.”

“If we stop –“

“It doesn’t have to be any time soon.” Billy glared at the interruption and Goodnight shut up.

“If we stop…what about us?”

“Oh, Billy, you should know by now I’d never go anywhere without you.”

 

**10\. Wednesday**

They met in the middle of the week, on a perfectly normal Wednesday in the middle of a perfectly average bar, following an entirely unique force of nature. Goodnight removed his hat in reverence of the act he just witnessed and the man who was his future.

 


	2. Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks. Second verse, same as the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Fontainebleau and wanderingsmith for some of the prompts here.
> 
> (And I'm still collecting and working on prompts already suggested in case anyone was wondering~)

**11\. Homemade**

“Ms. Emma, you are an extraordinary woman, but in the kitchen, I’m afraid your talents lay not,” Goodnight said, diplomatically. It was the first sentence spoken since Emma served up dinner.

“I think he means your cooking is shit,” Faraday unhelpfully translated. Red Harvest grunted in agreement, poking at what was supposed to be stew. He peered closer at it and jumped when it seemed to peer back.

Sam gave Emma an apologetic look but she waved it away. “There was a reason why Matthew never insisted on home cooked meals, and I did warn you all.”

She had. Vehemently.  

“I say we should believe the lady next time she insists on not taking her fair share of the cooking,” Sam offered. There was mumbled agreement around the fire.

“Half of this is raw,” Vasquez said, amazement in his voice. “The other half is charred, that is an incredible talent. Perhaps we should have just let Ms. Emma cook dinner for Bogue, and then Rose Creek would have been much easier.” He laughed.

Faraday snorted and dumped his stew out, the others followed suit.

“I like it.” Conversation paused around the camp as everyone simultaneously looked towards Billy. Billy shoveled some more stew into his mouth to his companions’ horror.

“It’s good.”

 Even Emma looked a little green.

Goodnight winced and then, with some effort, tugged the bowl out of Billy’s resisting hands.

“You know I have only your best interests at heart, Billy,” he said, dumping the stew out before Billy could reclaim it. “This is for your own good.”

 

**12\. Circle**

Billy was a man of little means; he did not require much to get by in life. When he met Goodnight Robicheaux he did so with naught but his name, a dead man’s clothes on his back and a knife with a bone handle.

When he died, Billy died in his own clothes, with silver knives around his waist (and that same bone-handled knife), and Goody's name in his mouth.

 

**13\. Wind**

The roar of the tornado filled the air and Goodnight was not a religious man, but he prayed like he never had before. It had come out of nowhere and Billy had stopped, entranced by the sight of the funnel making its way towards them. Goodnight had set the horses free and tugged Billy down into a creek bed, the best shot they had for shelter miles around.

With nothing but the suction of the mud and Billy’s arm pressing him down, Goodnight prayed for the best.

Then as quickly as it had arrived the tornado vanished, the only signs of its appearance being the long trail of torn up ground, ending not fifty feet from where they had made camp. Shaking, Goodnight rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky in dumbfounded relief.

Suddenly Billy’s mud splattered face blocked his sight.

“That was amazing!”

**14\. Uncle**

“I have a niece.” Goodnight’s voice was soft as he folded his letter. “I am an uncle.”

Billy paused from where he was flipping through the newest collection of stories they had picked up in town. “Do you want to meet her?”

Goodnight thought of home and family, of pride and blood needlessly shed. He shook his head and pocketed the letter.

“Not yet.”

 

**15\. Silver**

Goodnight brushed his fingers through Billy’s hair and watched the strands slip free. Most of it was a deep brown, but a few lighter strands mixed in with the rest.

“You are going to look striking once this all goes silver.”

Billy laughed and looked up from where his head was pillowed in Goodnight’s lap. “Like you, Goody?” He reached to touch the hairs on Goodnight’s temple.

Goodnight caught Billy’s fingers and pressed a kiss to the tips. “No, this old Gray is going gray, but you, _mon cher_ , will have a head as pure as silver from the finest mines.”

“What if I do go gray? Or bald? What will you think of me if it all falls out?”

Goodnight turned Billy’s hand around a pressed a kiss to his palm. “Then I will think you are most enchanting sight I have ever laid eyes upon.”

 

 

**16\. Church**

There are no church weddings for the likes of them. There are no flowers, and no weeping witnesses. No one congratulates them on their nuptials and wishes them happiness and everlasting love, and they don’t want for all of this. Standing beneath a tree on a hill, listening to church bells ring in the distance, Billy reaches for Goody’s hand and he reaches back. They lean into each other and are content.

 

**17\. Winter**

Their first winter together was a disaster that almost ended with Billy losing his toes to frostbite and Goodnight walking away. The less said about it, the better.

Their second winter was spent as far south as they could get without leaving the American territories. It went somewhat smoother and was much warmer.

By their third winter together, Billy and Goodnight understood each other’s temperaments inside and out and they got along much better. It would have been a peaceful few months had they not spent them passing a cold back and forth.

As their fourth autumn turned into their fourth winter, they were both on edge, all furtive looks and unspoken feelings. Everything came to a boil when Billy meant to brush a snowflake off Goodnight’s cheek and instead pulled him in for a kiss.

After that it was, as they say, history.

 

**18. Prickly**

“You need to shave,” Billy said, irritably rubbing his cheeks.

Goodnight frowned and self-consciously touched his face. “I thought you liked my whiskers, _cher_.”

“Your whiskers, yes. Your cactus, no.”

**19\. Street**

It was agonizing having to wait in hiding as Sam and Billy made their long walk through Rose Creek. The town hadn’t seemed that big from afar and it hadn’t taken Goodnight long to get into position, but the slow stride of Sam’s horse prolonged the wait. The seconds crept on and Goodnight gripped his rifle tighter.

 

**20\. Surprise**

“Here.”

Goodnight barely opened his hand in time to catch what Billy threw to him. He blinked, surprised. It was a small, brown box. “What’s this?”

“A box.”

“Very funny.” Goodnight deadpanned. “What’s it for?”

Billy shrugged. “Open it.”

Goodnight pulled the top off the box and then hesitated upon seeing what was inside. Billy reached over and pulled out one of the small fleur-delis lapel pins and affixed it to Goodnight’s coat before doing the same with the other.

“There.” He smiled and Goodnight smiled back. “A perfect fit.”


	3. Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's on third?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A glorious round of applause to Joline, wanderingsmith, and Fontainebleau for some of the prompts in this batch.

**21\. Helpless**

The door barely closed after their caretaker before Billy struggled up out of his bed. Goodnight watched, concerned but helpless, as Billy forced himself to his feet.

“Billy –“

Billy held up a hand to silence him and carefully shuffled across the room. Pain twisted his face but Billy didn’t let it halt his journey. The creak of Goodnight’s bed accompanied Billy’s groan as he finally plopped down on the edge.

Goodnight had no warning before Billy’s arm shot out and punched him in the shoulder (and bullet wound).

“ _What was that for?_ ” He gasped out, eyes tearing up from the pain.

Billy’s voice was impassive. “That was for leaving.”

He leaned down and Goodnight flinched back, but all Billy did was press a kiss to Goodnight’s cheek before sighing, all energy gone.

“And that?”

Billy’s voice was soft. “That was for coming back.”

 

**22\. Conqueror**

Billy holsters his gun with little show and settles back on his heels. He looks to Goodnight and from his perch on the fence Goodnight tips his head just a little. Their regard for each other doesn’t require any more acknowledgement than that as Billy’s newest opponent takes his stand.

**23\. Surround**

Goodnight watched as Billy was surrounded. At this distance he was perfectly safe from serious harm but even so his eyes still burned and teared up.

He could do nothing about the sight before him.

Billy picked up another kitten and rubbed his face into its fur. His expression was one of bliss and the mama cat purred loudly, rubbing herself into his side as her litter climbed all over Billy.

“Come on, Goody,” a kitten was climbing up to his shoulder and a small paw batted at Billy’s loose hair. “They’re so soft.”

“ _Cher_ ,” Goodnight sniffed, “you know I’m allergic to cats.”

**24\. Weltschmerz**

“What’s the point, Billy?” Goodnight sighed and released a puff of smoke. It twisted and turned in the air and for a moment Goodnight fancied himself a dragon, great and terrible. He certainly felt great and terrible.

He closed his eyes and visions of fire breathing lizards became flashes of gunfire and the roar of a beast turned into that of a rifle. Goodnight shook his head against the thoughts and only stopped once Billy settled into his side, warm and real.

Billy plucked the cigarette from Goodnight’s fingers and replaced it with his hand.

“I don’t know, Goody,” he took his own drag of the cigarette and pillowed his head on Goodnight’s shoulder.

Lost together in their own thoughts, they sat in the quiet night.

“I don’t know.”

 

**25\. Engaged**

“Travel,” Goodnight groaned, “might just be a young man’s game.”

His limbs ached and popped from a night out in the cold and he watched Billy struggle to feed the flames of their campfire against the wind.

“I am not the one who lost our tent,” Billy said.

“But you are the one who wouldn’t let me get an extra tent,” Goodnight countered, “just in case.”

“You wanted a new scarf,” Billy reached out and tugged at the maroon silk around Goodnight’s neck. His smile was all cheek.

“True.” Goodnight returned the smile and fixed his scarf, tucking the ends back into his vest. “But I’ve been thinking…” Goodnight trailed off, uncertain of what to say, and the rareness of the occasion caused Billy to pause.

“What about a house?”

“A house?”

“Yes, something for just you and I. Maybe out in the country. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? We could take a break from all of this for a while; let our feet find the ground. It would be harder to lose a house, at the very least.”

“Are you asking me to settle down?” Billy’s voice took on a playful tone. “Do you want to build a house with me? Are we going to raise goats?”

“If you’re going to be like that,” Goodnight frowned, “then I will take the proposal back –“

“Quiet,” Billy silenced Goody with a kiss. The frown disappeared. “I like goats.”

 

**26\. Lunch**

Billy ate like a man convinced the world was out to steal his meal. He did not decline food lightly and hunched over his plates, daring someone to get too close. Too many days and nights without the assurance of a full stomach did that to a person and Billy refused to live like that again.

 

**27\. Rhinestone**

They made quite the pair: Goodnight with his fine clothes and gold embellishments, and Billy with his belt of silver knives.

All flash with a side of deadly substance.

 

**28\. Rambling**

“So, is that your real name?” It was the first complete sentence Billy had directed towards Goodnight since agreeing to travel with him three days ago. Goodnight was almost surprised at the break in silence.

“This coming from a man named Rocks?”

Billy didn’t respond, just kept on staring as he expected his answer.

“If you must know then yes, yes it is. My parents were creative people, you see. And long, elaborate names do run in the family. My grandmother fancied herself a poet. She loved names with some weight to them and well, my daddy always said…” Goodnight trailed off, seeing the startled look in Billy’s eyes. He coughed, oddly embarrassed.

“Yes. Yes it is my name.”

 

**29\. Hell’s Angel**

Billy was still wide eyed and panting when Goodnight managed to free his own hands from the hastily cut ropes. Billy had flecks of blood on his face and flinched when Goodnight tried to rub them away. He was staring unseeingly at the bodies of the bandits – foolish men who had the misfortune of recognizing Billy’s face from ancient wanted posters and thought they could make some easy money.

 They made many mistakes. The first being their attempt to use Goodnight against him. The second was underestimating Billy Rocks.

The big one had yelled about Hell’s demons finding him, right before Billy plunged a knife into his spine, but he was wrong, Goodnight mused. Covered in blood and in Goodnight’s arms, Billy was an angel handpicked by the devil himself to accompany him. And the Angel of Death would have it no other way.

 

**30\. Snuffle**

Billy laughed as the wolf’s wet nose pressed into his ear, snuffling loudly. Huge, clawed paws rested on his shoulders and long teeth came close to his throat but he felt no danger. The wolf licked his face and Billy laughed harder, sinking his fingers into warm fur.

“Come on, Goody!” He called out. “You said you weren’t allergic to dogs!”


	4. Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which yours truly is a day late but feels good about this installment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanderingsmith and Joline, the lifeblood of these prompts. I salute you.

**31\. Wonder**

“Again.”

There was a chorus of groans from around the campfire. Vasquez made his escape from the spectacle and flopped down next to Goodnight in a sprawl of long limbs.

“Your friend,” he stated, with mock solemnity, “is a very determined man.”

Goodnight chuckled and took a drink of his flask before he offered it to Sam and then a grateful Vasquez.

“You have no idea.”

Across the fire, Faraday made a weak flourish of his cards and Billy copied the motion with his own, newly purchased, deck. Teddy sat an unwilling participant before them both, bored as he again picked a card from each hand.

Billy watched intently as Faraday went through the motions of cutting the deck and followed suit, shuffling his deck smoothly after practicing all night. Goodnight watched admiringly as Billy worked the cards as neatly as he did his knives, fingers flying through the motions.

Sam made a sound of interest that distracted Goodnight from observing the next part of the trick. “What’s that about?” Goodnight asked.

Sam waved it away. “Nothing,” he said. “I just hadn’t taken Billy to be the type interested in that kind of thing. Card tricks. Magic.” He shrugged.

“You’d be surprised,” Goodnight said. Billy and Faraday both offered their cards for Teddy’s tired perusal. “You should see how he gets about caves. I swear there was never anyone more excited to spend all day with stalagmites.”

Sam laughed. “Goodnight Robicheaux exploring caves. Now _that_ is a sight I need to see. Billy must truly be someone special to get you below ground.” Vasquez looked over at them with renewed interest. Goodnight felt his ears begin to burn.

“Yes, well, he’s - ” He was saved from finishing his sentence by Billy’s whoop of delight and the combined sounds of relief from Faraday and Teddy as Billy pulled the Ace of Hearts from thin air. Goodnight excused himself from the conversation and went over to offer Billy congratulations for finally pulling off the trick – if the move subtly offered Faraday and Teddy a chance to escape, well, no one mentioned it.

As he watched Billy pull Goodnight into participating in the card trick, and saw how Goodnight easily accepted his part despite watching the same trick over and over again all evening, Sam nodded in understanding. Sam looked at Vasquez and finished Goodnight’s sentence for him.

“He’s a wonder.”

 

**32\. Daring**

The schoolteacher barely left the church tower when Billy looked over to Goody. His breath caught, the world slowed, and the phrase _now or never_ rang through his mind. Curiously, the voice sounded a lot like Goody.

So Billy didn’t think, he just grabbed Goody and pulled him in for a kiss. The world did stop completely at that time, and Goody flailed for a moment before his hands found Billy’s shoulders and pulled him in closer. It was just them for one second, then two seconds, before the sounds of the battle below brought Billy and Goody back to the present.

Goody pulled back, dazed, and went to speak before Billy silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

“After,” Billy said, and a thousand unspoken thoughts were carried upon that one word.

“After,” Goodnight agreed.

They looked to each other for one stolen second longer and then threw themselves into the fray.

**33\. Quick**

“Hey, Rocks,” Faraday’s shout caused everyone to pause in settling down for the night. He held up a pack of cards. “Wanna see a magic trick?”

Billy was up above the camp, finding a good vantage point, and he looked down with a little frown. He caught Goodnight’s eye. Goody shrugged, just as confused.

Billy glanced around the landscape, making sure there wasn’t any immediate danger, before swiftly climbing down the rock. Faraday’s grin was sharp. “We’ve seen how quick you are with those knives,” he explained. “Let’s see what you can do with some cards.”

**34\. First**

His first gift to Goodnight is his given name, spoken softly so curious ears could not hear it through thin walls. Goodnight repeats it just as silently, tongue trying out foreign syllables.

“It’s not all I am,” he says. It’s who he was first, but it was not all of him.

Goodnight understands the power of a name - what it could mean to a man, and what it could mean to the world. So Goody whispers Billy Rocks’ chosen name back to him over and over in that dark room with its thin walls until it is all that matters.

 

**35\. Growl**

The tough cut of the shovel into the ground.

The give as he pressed it further in with his boot.

The sound of the dirt as it was scrapped out.

These were the things that Billy focused on. Sweat soaked through his shirt and his chest ached from overexerting barely healed bullet wounds but he persevered on.

Cut. Press. Scrape.                       

Uneven footsteps came down the rough dirt road that Billy ignored. Whoever it was would just come to tell him the same thing as everyone else and he didn’t want to hear it. Billy tightened his grip on the shovel, grit his teeth against the pain of blisters, and threw himself further into digging the hole.

Cut. Press. Scrape.

A low whistle sounded from behind him. Billy knew it for what it was – appreciation of the twenty identical graves, all lined up in a row. The sound frustrated him. His shovel rammed into a large rock in the ground with a loud metallic screech and that frustrated him more. Billy growled and thrust the shovel harder into the dirt, into the rock, and with the force of his anger behind it the shovel split apart with a large crack.

Silence.

Billy stood, shaking with rage and unfocused grief. The shovel handle dropped to the ground. His visitor swallowed.

“Billy –“

_“What?”_ Billy spun around and spat the word out. Goodnight shuffled where he stood, fixing his stance to better balance on his crutches.

He didn’t say anything and for that Billy was relieved.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-one miners had fought and died for Rose Creek. Twenty-one men who’d sought out a better life only to be used by those they had trusted for a few scraps of gold, who took up arms alongside farmers and mercenaries, only to earn a nameless grave. This could not wait; Billy would do his part in paying what respects he had to give, and then he would rest, but not before. Not yet.

Goodnight did not need to be told this and he understood what Billy could not say. How easily it could have been Billy in one of those graves, once upon a time. How it once almost was – the promise of gold and railroads did terrible things to the minds of men.

“Let’s get you a new shovel, alright?” Goodnight said his voice even and without pity. “Then we can finish up here.”

Billy nodded his head and followed Goodnight without a word back up the little dirt road. He left behind the broken shovel and twenty graves laid out in a row.

 

**36\. Last**

Goodnight’s last gift to Billy is his flask. He holds it in his hands for a moment and traces over the leather before leaving it on the little table in their room.

The flask is half empty and somehow that seems fitting.

 It’s a shameful way to end everything they have shared together, but Goodnight has nothing else.

 

**37\. Dashing**

“You didn’t have that,” Sam said, gesturing to the general area of Goodnight’s mouth, “the last time I saw you.”

Goodnight’s smile grew and the light glinted off his gold tooth. “I suppose there’s a question somewhere in there.”

Sam fondly tugged on Goodnight’s hat, pulling it down over his eyes this time. “How about ‘what happened to taking care of yourself’?” Sam offered. “And your letters mentioned having someone to watch your back again. Is that him?”

Billy was over introducing himself to Mrs. Cullen. His greeting lacked half the charm of Goody’s but included a quiet earnestness she appreciated.

Goodnight nodded, pride and fondness in his eyes. “Billy Rocks. Finest man I ever met, barring present company of course.”

“Of course,” Sam agreed. “Where was this fine man when you were getting your teeth knocked out?”

A hand went to his jaw, in respect of a half-remembered pain, and Goodnight grinned. He leaned in conspiringly and Sam followed suit. “What makes you think he wasn’t on the other side of the fist?”

Sam’s laugh bellowed out and he clapped Goodnight’s shoulder. Hard. “I like him already!”

 

**38\. Falling**

Goodnight’s mind barely has time to register Billy being shot before the Gatling gun completes its sweeping motion over the tower and then he is falling. His back hits the roof, then the ground, and Goodnight stares at the sky before it all goes dark.

 

**39\. Fell**

Goodnight opens his eyes to a bright light and feels profoundly spiritual for a moment before he hears what is unmistakably Vasquez cursing and something that may be furiously stomping.

Another voice – vaguely familiar, Red Harvest? – is calling for someone to bring a bucket and a lot of water but Goodnight focuses on Billy, wonderful Billy, grouching for someone to bring in another candle without setting the curtains on fire this time so he can eat. Goody sighs fondly. He has never been more in love.

 

**40\. Taken**

“Billy, you know I am so incredibly in love with you –”

“Yes.”

“–and that there is no one in this world that I am more fond of –”

“Hm.”

“–to the point that I have not felt even a mere fraction of an inkling of the affection you conjure in my heart with anyone else since I have met you.”

“Of course.”

“There is no one else but you.”

“Mm.”

“And no one is trying to usurp your place in my heart.”

“Good.”

“So I must say that while I am so happy that we are among individuals whom we do not have to hide our affections from, don’t you feel this is a bit…much?”

Billy, atop his perch across Goodnight’s lap, thought about this for a moment. One of his arms was wrapped about Goodnight’s neck, and his other hand was fondly stroking his face. Goodnight’s arms, in turn, were around Billy’s waist to stabilize him and overall, Billy felt very content and disinclined to go anywhere at the moment.

Billy leaned over to rest his cheek on Goodnight’s hair. “No.”

“Oh, alright then. Carry on.”


	5. Fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The theme of this chapter is, drum-roll please, soft dorks in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely kiss to the wind to both Poemsingreenink and wanderingsmith for some of these prompts. A shake of a fist in my own general direction for the rest.

**41\. Fever**

Billy pitifully batted Goodnight’s hands away from his head for the umpteenth time that morning. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep and he couldn’t do that with a worried Cajun spreading his worry all over him.

“Go,” he muttered and then tried it again with a bit more force. “ _Go_.”

Billy could see Goody’s concerned expression even behind his own closed eyelids.

“I told you to not eat that fish.” Cool hands rested on his face again, one on his head and the other on his cheek, and Billy fought to not given Goody the satisfaction of leaning into them. It was battle Billy would not win.

“Yes, Goody,” he sighed, “you were right.” A pause. Another deep breath. Billy licked his dry lips and peeked a tired look at Goody. “For once.”

Goody’s offended scoff followed Billy into his dreams.

 

**42\. Snow**

Billy was hunched over and marveling at the frozen pond. He was enchanted by the fish that could still be seen swimming beneath the ice and the scene was so utterly peaceful that Goodnight was almost ashamed to disturb it.

_Still_ , he mused, _payback is payback_.

He pressed the snow in his hands into a tight ball. _And all is fair in love and war._

**43\. Sail**

Billy doesn’t like the ocean. It reminds him too much of endless days on a cramped ship and lost hope.

**44\. Love**

They don’t speak of love between the two of them.  So much remains unsaid even if the feelings do not remain unshared. Life has a habit of getting in the way of words; their affections find different forms of expression.

They start off small, unnoticeable and easily ignored: the way their eyes automatically find each other in a crowd no matter what, hands that linger a little too long after an accidental brush.

They grow: the ease and contentment they share about the warm press of a body against their own when they take shelter from a rainstorm curled underneath a single blanket because their tent was lost once again.

They become expected: the way Goodnight’s fingers sometimes stroke Billy’s neck as he helps to untangle his hair, how Billy lights up a cigarette and grounds Goodnight before the world becomes too much.

It is a comfortable thing they have; they don’t need words when they have each other.

 

**45\. Moon**

There is a quiet solitude that comes with being in the desert at night. The land stretches out impossibly far and the world feels so much bigger. Cool air settles into one’s lungs and feeds the imagination. Goodnight loves it.

He stretches out, content, on his blanket and basks in the sounds of desert nightlife in the distance accompanied by Billy tending to their cooking dinner. The moon is climbing in the sky, a heavy, full presence that lights up the landscape in a bright blue wash.

 Goodnight grins and sits up abruptly, a movement that catches Billy’s attention. Keen eyes ask questions that don’t pass Billy’s lips as Goodnight cups his mouth and throws back his head. A long, low howl erupts from his chest and halts any motion in the night. Billy is incredulous but stays quiet as Goodnight motions him to.

_Just wait_.

Silence. Goodnight prepares another howl, breathing deep, before he is cut off by a shrill screaming howl in the distance. The call is taken up by another coyote – a few barks and then a long call – before the night is filled with the calls of the pack clamoring to be heard above one another.

Billy’s delighted laughter is swallowed by the howling coyotes but the moonlight highlights every laugh line for Goodnight.

 

**46\. Seed**

“That,” Goodnight says with every ounce of distaste he could fit into the syllable, “is deplorable.”

Billy grins and spits out another seed. His face is covered in watermelon. “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous,” Goodnight deadpans. The next seed Billy spits out flies farther than the first.

“Mhm.” Billy hums around another bite. “Jealous.”

“Of what, pray tell?” Goodnight asks, scoping out the admittedly impressive distance Billy gets with the next mouthful of watermelon seeds.

“No one is giving you free food.”

“They’re just giving you food because you’re skin and bones,” Goodnight reaches out and pinches Billy’s side. “It’s no wonder you can survive a Gatling gun, there’s nothing for the bullets to hit. They just pass on through you.”

Billy swats Goodnight’s hand and kicks him away. “What’s your excuse then?”

Goodnight gasps in mock offense before going in for the kill, poking and prodding Billy in his most ticklish spots while avoiding sticky fingers trying to pry his hands away.

The rest of the watermelon, seeds and all, sits forgotten in the ensuing battle.

 

**47\. Deal-breaker**

The owl follows Goodnight out of Rose Creek. The heavy flap of wings makes it impossible to ignore and Goodnight’s shame ensures that he does not try to outrun it this time.

Survival is Goodnight’s plan and he’d be dancing with the devil if he attempted to stay and fight; that was the bargain set in place long ago.

He does all he can to not think of those he leaves behind and almost succeeds until the next morning. The owl is gone, away in slumber or whatever activities nocturnal animals perform during the day, and Goodnight stops. His horse stamps anxiously at the ground, unfamiliar with being separated from its pair, and tired from the flight.

Goodnight looks over the horizon. If he peers closely enough, Goodnight can just see Bogue’s forces crossing the plains and suddenly, survival is not on his mind. Instead he sees Sam’s face set in an expression of quiet determination, prayers at a burnt down church, and Billy.

The choice to turn around is the second easiest decision of his life.

Immortality never suited him anyways.

 

**48\. Soft**

Goodnight is a creature of comfort, used to the hardness of the road but ever welcoming of a nice bed and warm blankets. When presented with a good bed, Goodnight lets himself sink down in the softness and sleep the night away.

 

**49\. Comfort**

By the time he is in his thirties Billy has long outgrown the need for soft sleeping arrangements. He is perfectly comfortable on the ground, wrapped up in only that which he carries on him. However, that does not mean he’d ever turn down the chance to sleep wrapped up in Goodnight and the comfort he provides.

 

**50\. Star**

Billy has loved the stars since he was a child, surrounded by family who would point out the constellations and tell him their stories to get him to sleep.

Nowadays his family is smaller, stranger, but with the right type of goading Billy can still encourage stories about the stars from them and share his own in turn.


	6. Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixty short, sometimes silly, story snippets straightened in a single stripe. This word document is 33 pages long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s give it up for this week’s prompt contributors: in one corner we have the crowd favorite wanderingsmith and in the other corner is our new contender Roadgoeseveronandon! *the crowd goes wild*
> 
> Let me tell you guys, this week has been a Week. I almost gave up on having an update because I was just not wanting to write after everything I went through but everyone's support and encouragement of these stories has just been so nice and wonderful that I kicked myself into gear and I really like where some of these went. And I hope you like them too. *finger guns*
> 
> Did you know? You can find me on tumblr [here](http://www.lostthehat.tumblr.com), along with 100% more shark content, or over [here](http://www.lostthecreativity.tumblr.com) with art.

 

 **51.** **Shopping**

The careful step of boots pass through the small shop and the boy at the counter gulps at the sight of the man in gray. He has an easy, if crooked, smile that he shares with the boy, but the butt of the rifle over his shoulder is still smeared with blood from where it smashed into the faces of bandits attempting to rob the store.

“Easy there, son,” he offers, setting his gun down on the counter. “I mean no harm.”

 The boy’s eyes glance between the man and the gun, as if unsure where to look. Years of manners drilled into him by a meticulous mother win out, and so does eye contact. The man nods in approval and slides a sheet of paper across to the boy.

“That right there is a warrant out for the arrest of our two friends there,” he says, tapping the paper. The boy gulps and chances a look – sure enough, the faces are familiar even without the freshly broken noses. “When the sheriff comes around, you will be sure to show him that, alright? Tell him to send the reward money along to Goodnight Robicheaux. That’s R-o-b-i-c-h-e-a-u-x, got that? Good.”

Goodnight Robicheaux leans back and peers along the shelves of the shop, humming to himself. “I’ll be needing a can of coffee, a bar of soap, a sewing kit if you have one, any vegetables that look fresher than those out front –“ the boy stares initially in surprise at the shift in conversation but years of helping run his fathers’ shop sends him into motion, quickly gathering items together as they were listed off. “ – I’ll be paying for the rope those unfine gentlemen are occupying too, of course. Any chance you sell tents?”

The boy shakes his head.

“Of course not.” Robicheaux sighs. “I’ll also take a nickels’ worth of those sweets by your head – the green ones – for my Sweet.” He winks like it’s some kind of inside joke and slides a few bills across the counter. “I’m sure that’ll cover it all.”

The shop boy’s eyes widen as he finishes placing the wanted items in a paper bag and spies the money. “M-more than enough, Sir!”

Robicheaux smiles and tips his hat before grabbing both his gun and the bag. “For the damages, son.”

Then he is gone, ducking out the shop as quickly as he arrived, an odd commotion in his wake.

 

**52\. Loss**

“This is not your fight, Billy. _Please_ , come with me.”

Goodnight’s hand hovered over Billy’s face, wanting to touch but afraid of pushing too far. His eyes were as pleading as his voice and Billy almost gave into the temptation to lean into the hand. Instead, it was the easiest and most difficult choice Billy could have made to step back from Goodnight in that moment.

His decision was clear and Goodnight nodded in heavy acceptance.

Billy closed his eyes before he had to watch Goody walk away.

 

**53\. Strut**

An unhurried Billy is a lazy Billy. With nowhere to rush to he is often unbothered by the need to move faster than he sees fit; this is a trait Goodnight appreciates. He has the lazy grace of a cat, the confidence of one too, and can dart off in a moment’s notice if need be. Otherwise, he _strolls_ , comfortable in his skin with silver knives at his hips.

 

**54\. Sway**

The day Goodnight walks a straight and narrow path is the day he starts speaking with a Northern accent and eats his hat. He has a poet's heart and the misery that follows suit, Goodnight claims, and is lucky to have his Billy there to ground him on his more flighty days or else he’d be stuck following wherever the wind took him. His own steadfast rock.

Depending on the company, Billy will roll his eyes or give him a fond smile, or sometimes both; but each mean the same thing. 

_I love you too._

 

**55\. Storm**

Pressed close together, barely an inch of space between them, Goodnight and Billy shared the same breath. The outcropping of rock above them was hardly enough protection from the storm’s fury around them, but it was all they had for the moment. Rain poured down over the rock and created a curtain of water that separated them from the world outside.

So near, Goodnight couldn’t help but notice the slight height difference between the two of them, how thin Billy felt beneath his coat. Billy was such a strong presence it seemed absurd to think he wasn’t truly larger than life.

The way lightning flashed across the sky allowed Billy to see the weariness that plagued Goody, the kind he hid behind a veil of confidence and smooth words. The tired ache that settled beneath Goody’s eyes called Billy to reach out and stroke his face.

Goody’s hands settled around Billy’s waist.

They don’t breath.

The thing that was growing between them for months flared to life, new and comfortable and _good_. Between one heart-stopping crack of thunder and the next Billy rose up, closed the distance between them, and pressed his lips to Goodnight’s.

The sheet of water coming down around them was too loud, too cold, but was ignored for the sensation that each touch brought. Billy reluctantly pulled back from the kiss but laughed when Goodnight frowned and tried to chase after the warmth Billy took with him. He moved his hands to Goodnight’s hair and held him still as Billy pressed a kiss to each of Goodnight’s gaunt cheeks and leaned in to whisper in his ear, for Goodnight and Goodnight alone to hear.

“I love you.”

Billy leaned his face against the one he held so dear and repeated himself over and over and Goodnight’s heart swelled in his chest. He tightened his arms around Billy and caught his lips in another kiss, pressing closer than before and almost sent them out into the storm with his enthusiasm. They smiled into the kiss, everything changed and still the same all at once.

Goodnight moved his hands to Billy’s hair, loosened the beloved strands and pressed his forehead to Billy’s.

“My sun, my moon, my everything,” Goodnight closed his eyes for his confession. “My Billy, I love you.”

The kiss he received in return was expected and outside that little pocket of warmth in the desert night, the storm raged on.

 

**56\. Perception**

“You know, you’re a mighty familiar man, Billy Rocks.”

Sam Chisolm’s voice cuts through Billy and he freezes, standing as motionless as his namesake. Chisolm continues to saddle his horse, checking over each strap and buckles as if oblivious to Billy’s reaction – but they both know that isn’t true.

“Now, men like us, I bet we’re both used to being confused for every Tom, Dick and Harry who even vaguely matches our countenance by the foolish. Do I look like a fool, Mister Rocks?”

Chisolm looks over his shoulder and Billy gives a barely perceptible head shake. His arms hang straight at his sides, knives untouched, but Chisolm didn’t need Faraday and Teddy Q to tell him how quickly that could change in an instant. He carries on, unafraid.

“I’ll thank you later for that shining assessment of my character but, oh about over a decade ago, the Great Pacific Railroad,” here his tone was sarcastic, “set out a hefty fine for the head of one of their workers. A man from the far East, but not Chinese, they said; could be identified by a set of peculiar scars on his hands.”

Billy’s hands, ever gloved, clench slightly. His eyes betray nothing.

“He murdered a few of their men, higher ups who had a stronger touch for cruelty according to the men and women I questioned – became quite the folk hero for a while and had more than a few bounty hunters after that pretty price on his head until claims got around that our mutual mouthy Cajun friend took him down.”

“Is there a point to this?” Billy fixes his hat and the tension eases from his shoulders. He is less a boulder, more open.

“My point,” Sam says, climbing into the saddle, “is that Goody retired from hunting down warrants not long after that. Claimed he had more interesting pursuits to follow and I don’t think I’m wrong to believe that you had something to do with that. I also think that the man Goodnight Robicheaux trusts to have at his side is one I’d like to have watching my back, and you will find that I am rarely wrong in my judgment.”

Billy smiles, a barely there quirk of his lips; Sam smiles back, wide and bright.

“Now let’s go, Mister Rocks.” He nudges his horse into motion, towards Rose Creek’s lone road. “Our audience awaits.”

 

**57\. Soft**

“Your hair is so much nicer without all that crap in it.”

Goodnight smiled to himself and relaxed back into Billy. He turned a page in his book. “That’s nice, dear.”

Billy hugged Goody closer to himself and rubbed his face further into Goody’s freshly brushed hair with a sigh. Goody hadn’t applied any oil yet that morning and it was in Billy’s favorite state.

“So, so soft.”

 

**58\. Frost**

Billy dragged a finger over the window, feeling the light frost on the surface give way to his touch. He continued to draw mindless shapes over the glass until Goodnight returned with breakfast and dragged him away from his investigations while it was still warm.

 

**59\. Infant**

Billy was all but frozen when Leni Frankel placed her child in his arms. Goodnight smiled in encouragement when Billy looked at him with wide eyes as Mrs. Frankel adjusted his arms, moving his hands to provide the best support.

“There,” she said with some accomplishment, giving Billy a smile of her own. “You’re a natural.”

The baby babbled up at him, waving a hand without a trace of fear or upset. Goodnight leaned over to coo at the infant and Billy found himself smiling at the child as well.

 

**60\. Satisfaction**

They barely stepped into town before the commotion at the end of the street became obvious. Loud and volatile, it proved to be dangerous. With the ease of two people who’ve known each other well and for a long time, Goodnight and Billy looked over at the other with perfect synchronization.

“Well?” A quirked eyebrow.

“You know what they say.”A mischievous grin.

“Curiosity killed the cat…” A knowing look.

“…but satisfaction brought it back.” An invitation.

And together, unto the breach they walked once more.


	7. Seventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All around the mulberry bush  
> The monkey chased the weasel  
> The monkey thought it was all great fun  
> Pop! This sure is an update.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I misplaced my note for keeping track of prompts and senders and hopefully I will locate it before a very confused someone else finds a list of very random words and half noted thoughts. 
> 
> The creative spot in my brain was a little blocked off this week so this batch had a few false starts, a lot or rewrites, and hopefully something good is in there somewhere.

**61\. Trust**

The door slams open and Billy is standing with a knife in hand before it finishes bouncing back from the wall. His book topples to the floor and the slight thump is the only noise in Billy’s ears. Billy’s eyes are wide and he holds his breath, tense and ready to move against whoever is foolish enough to attack him in his own room.

There is a shuffle, then a groan, before Goodnight is almost falling into the room. His hat is pulled low over his eyes and he turns his body away from Billy.

Any annoyance Billy feels over the surprise is quickly chased away by an intense worry. Billy sheaves his knife and is at Goodnight’s side by the time he falls heavily onto their bed, still hiding his face away from Billy.

“Goody?” Billy’s hands hover over Goodnight’s arm but do not touch; he is too afraid of hurting Goodnight further when he doesn’t know what pains him already.

One of Goodnight’s hands catch Billy’s questing fingers in a comforting squeeze while the other holds his hat over his face as he groans again.

“Oh, Billy,” he sighs. “Dear Billy. A man my age really should know better…”

He pulls his hat away to look at Billy with the most pitiful hangdog expression on his face. To his credit, Billy manages to reign in his shock even though the surprise is written all over his own face as he looks at a beardless Goodnight.

Goodnight’s miserable expression is not hidden at all with a chin and lip as bald as the day he was born.

“I should never have trusted a barber who looks too damn young to even dream of growing a beard of his own.”

 

**62\. Reflection**

Goodnight observed the differences in his reflection with a frown. The bags under his eyes had deepened since the last time he had access to a mirror proper, along with the lines on his forehead. There were more grays in his beard too, he noticed, and the epidemic had started to spread to his temples.

Goodnight was dragged from his personal critique by the sudden appearance of Billy at his side, watching both their faces in the mirror with interest. Billy copied Goodnight’s slight frown for a moment, as if spotting some flaw in his own reflection, before he exaggerated his disgruntled features into the extreme and pulled a laugh out of Goodnight.

Perhaps growing old wasn’t so bad, Goodnight thought as he tugged Billy close.

Not when there was such pleasant company to share the experience with.

**63\. Friendship**

Friends do not come easy when you’re on the run. It is hard to trust a man when it’s impossible to know if he’s after the price on your head; it’s even harder when that man is just as likely to slit your throat for not fitting a certain mold. Billy knows this well. So he surprises himself when he agrees to a stranger’s proposition of traveling together, a tentative offer of friendship amidst a sea of hostility.

Years later, when they’re so much more than strangers and laugh together over rounds of gunfire, Billy is grateful he took a chance with Goodnight Robicheaux.

 

**64\. Determined**

If it had been a full moon that night there would have been enough light coming through the window to notice when a body-sized shape blocked it for a moment. The sudden lack of light would have roused the man from his sleep just enough for him to hear the slide of the window and the slightest creak of a floorboard.

If he hadn’t been drinking that night, the man would have sensed the presence of another person in his room, over his bed. 

He would have woken up and seen how the young man shook ever so slightly – from the cold, from exhaustion, from nerves, from excitement; it mattered not – and could have easily fought him off. Surprise could only get the would-be assassin so far when his target was well fed, well rested, and easily twice his size.

Unfortunately for the man, his killer was as thoughtful as he was determined and knew when patience was needed. The man lay asleep, confident in his security and content with the day’s progress on the railroad. He was completely unaware of his already slain associates, their bodies still warm and bleeding in their beds.

And since the moon was new that night, there was no light to glint off the knife as it was plunged into his throat as well.

**65\. Memento**

Goodnight collected things, sometimes. Small, useless items steeped in sentimentality. Heirloom lilies pinned to his vest, a watch chain without a watch but still worn fondly, a single mismatched button sewn on to a new piece of clothing – each item a scrap of memory, a reminder what he held dear.

 

**66\. Peace**

Billy woke up first in a quick, jolting motion. He blinked away the sleep in his eyes and stared warily around the campsite. The flames of the campfire had turned to embers while unattended last night and two horses grazed lazily not too far away. Everything was as it should be.

_Good_. Billy yawned and lay back down, resting his head on his bundle of belongings.

The sun was not yet ready to creep over the horizon and insects created an unending symphony all around them. A few birds cried out in the distance and almost an arm’s distance away from Billy, Goody snored, still asleep. Billy smiled fondly, halfway back in slumber once he felt assured he had no immediate concerns to manage. Billy’s eyes crinkled with a happiness few others aside from the sleeping man bothered to notice even if it went unobserved at the moment.

Billy reached out with one hand and traced over Goody’s familiar features with a touch so light it barely qualified as such. He smoothed away the worried crease in-between Goody’s eyes and fixed a lock of hair that had fallen out of place during the night. Without any product it flipped back over Goody’s forehead and continued to flutter with the soft buzz of each snore.

A small, happy ache filled Billy’s chest at the sight and he pulled his hand back, content to observe and bask in the peace of the early morning.

**67\. Heat**

It was too hot to do much of anything that day. Too hot to move, too hot to ride, too hot to even think, Goodnight mused. Just too hot.

He was settled under a willow, accepting what shade the long, drooping branches had to offer. Voices chattered around him, accompanied by the sounds of water.

_What would Rose Creek think of their heroes now_ , Goodnight thought with a smile, _stripped down to indecent levels and  half of them splashing around in a pond like children_.

Sam and Jack had followed Goodnight’s example and were seeking shelter beneath the willows. There’d been some chatter from Goodnight’s neighbors before it slowly quieted down, each man supposedly napping in the afternoon heat. Red Harvest had been pulled into Vasquez’s and Faraday’s inevitable water battle – there’d been mud flying the last time Goodnight bothered to lift his head. That was nearly half an hour ago and they too had grown quiet. Goodnight supposed that meant the battle had moved on or someone had drowned but he was too drained by the heat to care at the moment.

Billy, as usual, had gotten distracted by some piece of nature and scampered off. Goodnight thought about what a sight he must be, dressed down to his underclothes and climbing up trees or crawling through the long grass to get a better look at some kind of creature. If it was any cooler than the devil’s own stovetop Goodnight might’ve followed after, but any unnecessary movement was very low on Goodnight’s priorities and instead he closed his eyes, thinking how nice a nap sounded.

He couldn’t have been asleep for more than five minutes before something cold and wet slapped down on his stomach. Goodnight absolutely did not shriek at the unexpected sensation, though Billy’s grin from where his head rested on Goodnight said otherwise. He was dripping wet like he had just taken a dip in the pond and his smile was stained purple.

Billy held up a bundled handkerchief and gave it a little shake. “Guess what I found?”

Goodnight smiled as all plans for a nap flew out of his head. “Billy, if those are ripe blueberries then I could just kiss you right no–“ and then he was cut off by the taste of summer and the press of a cool smile against his own.

 

**68\. Simplicity**

Goodnight smoothed down his waistcoat with a frown. Brand new with strong seams and a brilliant navy blue, it should have lasted through much more wear before needing repair. However, the glaring absence of the one of the lower buttons stared back at Goodnight, taunting him.

He’d looked all over camp for the wayward button but it appeared to be lost, stolen away in the night by some creature with a love for gold or probably just pressed too deeply into the dirt to be found without digging everything up.

No matter what happened to the button, it was gone, nevertheless.

He was distracted from his musings when Billy suddenly tugged on his vest, undoing a few of the buttons in order to easily sew on a new one without pricking Goodnight with a needle. It was an incredible invasion of space but Billy was redoing the buttons within a minute, patting down the newest addition to Goodnight’s coat with a succinct nod.

Goodnight observed the neatly sewn on button with interest – it didn’t match but was vaguely familiar – one of the bronze buttons from Billy’s coat, Goodnight realized.

He made to object before Billy was pressing into his space again, patting down his lapels and straightening his pins. “You need to look your best,” Billy said, meeting his eyes with a glance, “if you’re going to be seen with me.” Goodnight kissed him then, both in thanks and to wipe away his smirk.

 

**69\. Worship**

They wear many masks in public. Partners to some, manager and competitor to others, it was easy to see past to the deep friendship Goody and Billy shared for anyone who cared to look. What was rarer to see was the love they so carefully held close and dear – the parts of themselves that needed the most protection.

It was only when they were alone and truly comfortable could they afford to let those masks slip away; to peel away everything they had to hide behind and replace it with their hands and mouths to worship their love and care with all that it deserved.

 

**70\. Wordy**

Goodnight liked to talk. It was a fundamental core of who he was to chatter on about anything and everything and to share his thoughts on the world with, well, the world. When he was young Goodnight’s family would often joke that you would always hear Goodnight arrive before you could see him. And that was true.

After the war, words became Goodnight’s sanctuary. He would speak to fill the silence and to keep his thoughts from piling up and overwhelming him. If his words became heavier and the silences became more damning, there were few around long enough to notice.

With Billy’s arrival into his life, Goodnight found someone who eased the silence and made it bearable. If Billy could, on occasion, chat Goodnight’s ear off, well, there were some who would say that’s just what Goodnight needed.


	8. Eighth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight is late to the date but steps up valiantly to the plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! This update comes a week later than it should've but, between you and me, I'm glad it does. Circumstances went wild for a while there and I was fighting to get a few stories out that were honestly terrible so into the bin they went. Things settled as they tend to do and I feel much better about what I have to share today. I really hope you enjoy them.
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr [here](http://www.lostthehat.tumblr.com) or [here](http://www.lostthecreativity.tumblr.com).

**71\. Touch**

Touch was a casual thing between the two of them long before the thing they shared was more than casual. An arm wrapped around a shoulder, a hand unthinkingly fixing a stray hair, Goody and Billy drifted together with the ease of two people finding where they belonged.

 

**72\. Lost**

Goodnight is nearly an hour out of Rose Creek when he first grabs for his flask and notices its absence. He thinks back to when he last saw it and pictures it on a small nightstand, next to a discarded belt of knives.

It’s almost enough of a cause to turn around, but Goodnight knows he cannot stay and leaving is not something he can ask of Billy.

With this in mind Goodnight stays on his path and ignores the feeling of loss washing over him.

“Flasks can be replaced,” he says aloud, as if that’s all there is to the feeling.  

 

**73\. Shiny**

Goodnight almost tripped over his feet the first time he saw it, that tiny little shimmer of light in the shop window. He had to take a second look to make sure he wasn’t imagining the tray of hair pins on the shelf’s edge and so Goodnight stopped quite suddenly in the street.

This was a move that earned Goodnight the ire of the crowd as they groused and moved around him, but Goodnight was oblivious to them all. His focus was on the lone silver pin in the display and his thoughts were filled with how lovely it would among strands of long dark hair.

 

**74\. Confidence**

Billy tried not to sneer after the men walking away even after he yelled at them to return. If they didn’t want to learn knives from him then he would not chase after them. Let the farmers stick to their guns and see where their poor aim would take them Billy grumbled before he plunged a knife into the now useless training dummy.

A softly asked “Mister Rocks?” pulled Billy’s attention away from the dummy and saved it from an untimely death as he surveyed the line of women behind him. He’d been distracted from noticing their arrival and now Billy took stock of at least a dozen wives, widows, and girls barely old enough to be called women. They stood tall. Billy raised an eyebrow at the woman who had spoken – her cue to continue.

She cleared her throat and shifted the bundle in her arms. Billy had seen her before, with Mrs. Cullen, and she’d been clutching an infant at the time. Whatever she held now was no child and it sparked a flame of curiosity in Billy. He met her gaze.

“We know there are those who would say we should stay out of the fight, but Rose Creek is our home too. Each woman here has weathered much to make our town what it is, just as much as any man, and I speak for us all when I say we will be damned before we face this nightmare without means to protect ourselves and the children.”

Billy didn’t speak.

“If you will teach us, Mister Rocks, we are all willing to learn.”

She set the bundle in her arms on the ground and pulled off a section of its protective leather wrapping to reveal what was possibly the town’s entire knife supply. Everything from a butcher’s knife to a butter knife lay there, imperfect as weapons but sharp enough to cause damage in a pinch. Billy looked around at the women before him, each with a look in her eye just daring him to turn them away.

He smiled.

This he could work with.

 

**75\. Sleepless**

Sleep was a difficult thing for people even with the comfort of a stable home, four walls and a bed, and the knowledge that no one wanted them dead. So it was no cause for concern that Billy and Goody each had their own problems with getting a good night’s rest with the lives they led.

Goodnight could fall asleep at the drop of a hat, but staying asleep past the terrors that found him nearly each night was impossible.

Billy often could never even get that far, and would spend many nights restless and unable to sleep, stuck counting the stars in-between Goodnight’s fits.

It was common for exhaustion to plague them both, slowing them down until one or the other stayed awake so long he could do nothing but sleep a night or day away. Then the cycle would repeat.

 

**76\. Nicknames**

‘Goody’ was as decent a nickname as any and had followed Goodnight throughout most of his life – an affection given by those close and dear to Goodnight. It was only natural then that it was a name used most often by only Sam and Billy in Goodnight’s adult years, since it would be impossible to find anyone Goodnight cared more about.

 

**77\. Cover**

Billy hated being cold. He never said as much, but Goodnight knew. It was a testament to how long they had traveled together, and how close they had grown that Goodnight knew many things about Billy that went unspoken.

After the exhausting heat of the past few days, the current temperature drop was a shock and Goodnight kept expecting to see the mist of his breath in the air before him. It never came. Regardless, Goodnight continued to shiver and knew if he was feeling the cold this much Billy felt it worse and would suffer in silence before he said anything. Goodnight used his one good arm to pull Billy closer to share in their body heat and chase away the cold. He’d already wrapped his coat around Billy, a gesture Billy did not protest for once, but Goodnight knew firsthand it wouldn’t provide enough warmth on such a night.

Around Goodnight and Billy, the denizens of Rose Creek carried on with their sorrowful tasks. Sundown or not, they could not leave the bodies of their friends, families, and brothers in arms where they fell. The metallic scent of blood and the burn of gunpowder came and went, carried on the low breeze. A few men and women turned and gave Goodnight mournful glances as they passed that he did not see, as focused on Billy as he was.

After another determined tug, Goodnight managed to arrange Billy’s tired form into his lap in a position that would warm them both without jostling Goodnight’s arm. A bruised back and a single gunshot through the shoulder – that was the extent of Goodnight’s stint with the Gatling gun and fall from the church tower. He was lucky to be so fortunate when many others that day were not.

He wound had stopped bleeding profusely hours ago, and as long as he did not exert himself too much the bleeding hopefully would not start up again. As it was, Goodnight already needed to replace his vest. A shame, Billy liked Goodnight in that shade of blue and it would be difficult to find another like it.

Goodnight sighed and rested his head back against the church building. Some of the charred wood crumbled beneath the movement. He watched the lanterns of the workers go by, little orbs of light swinging in the darkness, and idly ran his hand over Billy’s back, giving him any additional warmth Goodnight had to offer. Only the best for his Billy.

“Mister Robicheaux?”

Goodnight blinked, his mind fuzzy from the hypnotizing swing of the lanterns, and he tried to focus on the person kneeling in front of him and Billy. It was Teddy Q, a good man; Goodnight offered him a smile.

“Why, if it isn’t Teddy,” was his voice always so weak? “It’s good to see you well, Son. And I told you to call me Goodnight; after everything we’ve been through it’s only right. Besides, Mr. Robicheaux was my daddy.” Goodnight’s laugh was hardly more than a wheeze.

Teddy’s face twitched in a sort of smile and he wiped some sweat off his brow. “Goodnight,” he said, “are you sure you won’t allow us to-“ Teddy made a gesture towards Goodnight’s shoulder that Goodnight’s tired mind could not interpret, and he might’ve continued talking but Goodnight was too tired to focus so he just waved away Teddy’s worries and looked back to Billy.

“I’ll be fine, don’t mind me.” He ran his hand weakly through Billy’s hair. “Just…can you bring us a blanket? Or maybe an extra coat? Anything you can spare for cover will do, Billy doesn’t like the cold, you see. Poor man was born with summer in his heart...he doesn’t like the cold.”

Teddy’s appearance and conversation with Goodnight had not disturbed Billy, and only one of the men in the shadow of the church was fully aware that nothing again would be able to bother Billy. Considering the way Goodnight was fading, pretty soon nothing would be able to bother him either, but he had long refused any aid and had fought everyone off after he watched Billy’s body be carried down from the tower.

The heavy heat of the night did nothing to ease Teddy’s spirit and he longed to do something more but he nodded nonetheless, accepting Goodnight’s decision. “I’ll see what I can do, Goodnight.”

Goodnight didn’t acknowledge Teddy’s answer or disappearance; his entire attention was focused on Billy right until the end.

 

**78\. Stitches**

Billy learned to sew out of necessity and his stitches revealed as much. Fabric and skin alike, he could fix up anything he needed to, even if the result was less than ideal.

 

**79\. Ensnare**

“Bewitching,” Goodnight said, pulling Billy up.

“Enchanting,” Goodnight declared, spinning him around their little camp.

Their companions hooted and hollered, encouraging the impromptu dance following Goodnight’s one man reenactment of the bar fight that first brought Billy into his life. Billy laughed and gave in, clutching Goodnight close as the world swirled around them.

 “He had me ensnared right from the start!”

 

**80\. Meaning**

Jack focused on the silk line in his hand. Carefully, he wrapped the thread around itself. The feather and hook at the end spun around in the slight breeze as he again dropped it and the tie came undone. His body tensed, except for his hand and the tremor that plagued it.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, taking in the fresh air of the lakeside to calm himself from the frustration. Cattails danced in the breeze and it was silent except for the distant conversation back at campsite. The peaceful setting did not help with the lingering ache of long-healed arrow wounds, but it did distract Jack from the near-silent footsteps through the grass.

Jack Horne was aware of the body settling down next to him, something he was used to with how often Faraday joined him on the days he went fishing. The silence however made Jack unsurprised to see that it was Billy who joined him today instead. Billy didn’t say a word, just watched Jack with the same calm, even expression he shared with most often with everybody that wasn’t Goodnight. They hadn’t spoken much, as it was, and Jack didn’t find much reason to change that now even as Billy picked up the dropped line and observed the different pieces.

“I can’t get it right,” Jack offered, his soft voice cutting through the strange peace they shared. Billy’s eyes flickered to him. “My hand…”

Billy nodded. He understood too easily, from the careful way he held himself. Arrows and bullets left different wounds but the way the body handled the trauma wasn’t too different. “Tell me.”

“Hm?”

“Tell me how to tie the line,” Billy said, and then quieter, he added, “I never learned how to fish.”

Jack blinked at the admission, it was obviously rare for Billy to make such a confession, and he felt a little honored to hear it. “There’s no shame in that, we each learn what we need to when the Lord deems the time is right; now hold the line straight…”

Billy was a quick learner. His hands followed the instructions well, and he only needed a few clarifications. Before long, Billy and Jack had two fishing lines in the water. Jack observed Billy for a while, Billy’s expression hidden partially by his hair worn down for the day. He closed himself off easily, something Jack was familiar with after long years on the mountain side, but Jack was learning to break the habit among friends (family?) once more. He saw no reason not to help Billy do the same and shared something that had been on his mind for a while.

“William means protector, did you know?” Jack looked over the lake as Billy barely reacted to the statement other than to turn away slightly. “The meaning changes a little based on who you ask, but always comes back to protection. It’s fitting. The way you protect us. The way you protected Rose Creek…” Jack hesitated before offering, “even after your heart fled…”

Billy said nothing.

“My son was named William.”

“My name is Billy,” was all Billy said in response.

Jack nodded. “And I share my name with Faraday’s horse.”

Billy screwed up his face and gave Jack a funny look.

Jack’s face was soft as he reeled in the first catch of the day and unhooked it with fingers that trembled a little less. “Maybe the only meanings behind names are the ones we give to them, or what we make of them, or maybe nothing at all. I would be proud though, if my William had grown up to be anything like you.”

Billy could not respond to that, and Jack didn’t expect him to, so they resumed their easy silence and fished in growing peace.


	9. Ninth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine nesting chapters align never knowing when to stop getting longer. Wow!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't keep track of word count per chapter, but if I did, I imagine this one would be a contender for the longest.
> 
> My everlasting thanks to Joline, poemsingreenink, and Roadgoeseveronandon for the prompt contributions here.

**81\. Coffee**

Sam woke up first, as he usually did, followed shortly after by a bleary eyed Vasquez. Red Harvest, bright eyed with youth and already wide awake from taking the last of the night’s watches nodded at them both before grabbing his bow and vanishing into the tree line to check the snares he carefully set up the evening before. He wouldn’t be gone long and in the meantime Sam took over feeding the fire in order to chase away the early morning chill.

Without an outside threat to force him into wakefulness Vasquez was uselessly slouched beside Sam, still mostly asleep. Vasquez’s long limbs were sprawled out, vaguely propping him up like a marionette as he listlessly swayed in his seat before giving into the sweet embrace of gravity and cushioned his head on Sam’s reluctant pillow of a shoulder. Sam, with all the patience that comes with being half-awake and uncaffeinated before sunrise, let him be.

Vasquez’s buzz of a snore rejoined the symphony of racket coming from Faraday propped up on the other side of camp. Mercifully Jack had elected to camp elsewhere for the night – a decision he made seemingly at random, a layover from his days of solitude. Normally Goodnight would finish off this disastrous arrangement with his own snore, yet it seemed he had hardly made it back to bed after taking the dreaded midnight watch. Instead, Goody was flopped over Billy, blanket and all, and his face in Billy’s stomach muffled any wheezing. The only sign of life from Goody was how he rubbed his face further into his own living pillow every so often, only to pause a moment after a tired swat from Billy before he started up again. Seeing as how no one was getting hurt, Sam let the matter lie.

Instead, Sam basked in the rare almost peace of the morning. With nothing out of the ordinary he saw no reason not to close his eyes just for a second, and was on the verge of falling back asleep before Red Harvest crashed through the bushes with far less stealth than he departed with. Sam jolted awake and nodded his thanks as Red Harvest showed off his bounty of hares.

Red Harvest made his way over to Sam only to frown at the empty fire. “No coffee?” He pulled out a knife and prepared to clean the hares.

Vasquez rejoined the living with a snort and blearily peered over at Red. “Billy isn’t awake yet.”

Billy, for all that he could not be trusted with making an edible meal, was the only one among them with the sense for making coffee. As if summoned by his name and the general uselessness of his companions before their morning coffee, Billy spoke up after slapping away Goodnight’s sleep-wandering hand. His eyes were still closed but he was undoubtedly awake considering the strength of the slap.

“I will make the coffee only if you get the water before I wake up this time.”

The declaration was enough to spur Vasquez into action and he grabbed the brewing pot and ran towards the stream before Sam could finish processing the threat.

“Amazing what menacing a man’s coffee can do to his speed,” Sam said.

Billy just turned to look at Sam through half-opened eyes. He just grunted in response before encouraging Goodnight to move off him. Billy succeeded in getting Goodnight to roll away and flung the blanket over him before standing up to find his own spot around the fire. Before he fully settled in he was already reaching out to accept the sloshing pot of water Vasquez presented to him with a yawned out “thank you.”

Then he got to work.

Billy’s greatest skill in life was undoubtedly his knives, there was not a person alive who would contend that, but Sam was willing to go to court to defend his claim that Billy was an artist when it came to preparing coffee. There was a simple peace to watching him follow his own mental guidelines, setting aside some cold water and simply boiling the rest instead of adding any grounds to it just yet.

There wasn’t much discussion as the four awake men waited for the pot to boil before Billy removed it from the fire. He waited, counting out the seconds before tossing in the coffee grounds Vasquez passed to him, and then Billy waited once more. After the first morning Billy made coffee for everyone Sam had tried to ask Billy what his secret was. Goodnight just laughed and said “patience” and Billy had shrugged away the question in his usual manner.

Now, however, he stirred the pot and released the scent of brewing coffee around the campsite, prompting Goodnight and Faraday to wake up and wander into their usual spots in the circle. Jack approached from wherever he had camped for the night, packed up and ready for the day. He greeted everyone and smiled at the tired “’mornings” he received as he passed out everyone’s mugs while Billy sprinkled some cold water into his carefully managed brew. Billy left the pouring to his coffee protégé Vasquez and leaned against Goodnight, content to rest as he waited for the day to start.

Sam watched the scene with a smile, seeing these six strange men come together as family was all he needed for the moment, along with his own cup of coffee.

 

 

**82\. Sunrise**

Goodnight was no stranger to nightmares and found them happening quite frequently as the year rolled around to significant dates in his past. Billy was the same, Goodnight learned a few months after meeting him. They were still too unsure of each other, world weary, and careful to not share too much. Even as they grew to depend on each other, and grew fond of each other, it was still hard to not pack away anything more personal than favored meals and small interests.

It’s an early morning when Goodnight first sees past the barrier Billy put up between his emotions and the world. It had been a rough night and every inch of it is worn on Billy’s face. Billy looks exhausted, weary all the way down to his soul. Dark circles surround his eyes, giving him a gaunt, hollow appearance. His forehead is wet is perspiration, his hair a tangled and flyaway mess.

Goodnight isn’t too sure what to do, it’s not often he’s on the other side of this, but he takes his own blanket and wraps it around Billy’s shoulders before preparing him something warm to drink. Billy’s small, grateful smile encourages Goodnight and he carefully raises a hand to help smooth Billy’s hair. The touch causes Billy to freeze, but the tension escapes his shoulders not long after as he leans into it.

Billy’s quiet “thank you” strikes Goodnight’s heart in the best of ways.

And so it is during sunrise on an otherwise unremarkable day that Goodnight first thinks he could fall in love with Billy Rocks.

 

**83\. Lion**

Vasquez tries to ignore the scene going on at the bar, he really does. Sunrise is only hours away and with it comes a fight for survival no one is fully prepared for. He makes it as far as the stairs, hand on the railing and one foot on the bottom step, before he is unable to move any further on. He closes his eyes and sighs; sparing a moment’s thought about the first non-corpse occupied room he’s had in a while, Vasquez curses his bleeding heart and turns around.

The sight has not changed: Billy Rocks, alone and hunched over the countertop, tosses back another shot in the most blatant show of heartbreak Vasquez has seen since the Widow Cullen shared her story.

He knows he would be unable to sleep that night if he didn’t at least make an effort to reach out, so Vasquez flops down into the stool next to Billy. He is tall enough that his feet touch the ground and then some, far different from Billy who looks upsettingly small for someone who carries his weight in knives.

He isn’t wearing the knives now, however, and it’s strange to see him without his blades and with no Goodnight by his side. Pointless, in more way than one.

Vasquez heaves a sigh and, with no reaction from Billy, leans back on his stool. Wordlessly, Billy pours another drink and hesitates before passing it over to Vasquez. He takes the glass and inspects it a moment before tossing back the drink, not dissimilar to Billy’s own actions. It burns going down and Vasquez coughs against the feeling in his chest and the surprising strength of the drink.

“I did not know this little town had anything this strong,” he wheezes out. Billy, indifferent, takes a drink right from the bottle and is unfairly unaffected. At least, that’s the way he acts. Vasquez stops smiling and just takes in Billy’s entire demeanor. He sighs.

“I did not think you drank,” Vasquez offers in terms of conversation.

“Things change,” Billy says. He holds the bottle up and watches the liquor swirl as he gives the bottle a little spin. He pours another shot for Vasquez and Vasquez tips his head in thanks.

“The man who left,” Vasquez sees no point in stepping around the issue, “the one with the grandfather in the Alamo and the odd name, he was your friend.”

Billy nods.

“You knew him well?”

Billy huffs out a laugh in return and pulls something out of his vest. It’s a flask, unmistakably Cajun with its gator skin and silver fleur-de-lis decoration. Billy rubs his thumb over the emblem. “You could say that.”

Pieces start to fall into place and Vasquez isn’t as stunned as he should be, he knows. He had thought Billy and Goodnight were close, seeing the way they behaved, always pulling together like they were in their own little world. But this…this is Vasquez being let in on a truth only granted to a select few. His prior thought of heartbreak was only too true.

“Then you are very brave.”

Billy meets Vasquez’s eyes properly for the first time since he sat down. Billy’s stare is heavy and red rimmed and Vasquez feels more confident in his assessment of Billy. “It must take a lion’s courage to stay with us, knowing he has left. I thank you, my friend, and I am glad to have you by my side tomorrow.” It is a risk to put a hand on Billy and hope it will remain attached, but Vasquez grasps Billy’s shoulder with respect and support all the same. Vasquez’s smile is small but meaningful, and even as Billy turns away, uncertain, Vasquez hopes he was able to bring some small comfort.

 

**84\. Restart**

When Sam first met Goodnight Robicheaux the man was huddled in the dirt and flinching away from the sound of a friendly voice. Considering the tattered gray uniform he still wore, Sam was not too surprised Goodnight had been targeted by men who still felt the sting of war, he was even less surprised once he learned Goodnight’s name.

“They’re gone now, you can get up.” Sam was ignored. He waited a few seconds before he rolled his eyes and hardened his voice.

“Get up.” This time it wasn’t a suggestion and the man on the ground jerked before warily looking over his shoulder to Sam. Bright eyes stared out from behind a layer of grim and a wild beard. Sam nodded. “That’s better, now get up.” He held out a hand and tried not to hold his breath for a response.

The face turned away.

“I don’t deserve any kindness you’re offering,” he said in a pained and weary voice, “and I don’t want any trickery.”

Sam felt annoyance and compassion toward the man in equal measure and made his offer one last time.

“I don’t know what you did during the war, and right now I’m not asking. All that is behind us and you can choose to remain in the past with it, or you can get up out of the dirt. What I’m offering is a hand and it’s your choice to take it or not. Now, again, what is your answer going to be?”

Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted among the trees. Feeling an ache in his legs from crouching low, Sam started to straighten out when a distinctly Cajun voice coughed out “wait” and his offered hand was met with a tight grip.

**85\. Competition**

Boredom drew Billy towards the commotion near the end of town and towards the ring of men. They were shouting, arms raised with hands full of money and Billy pushed past a few to get a better view at the action causing the ruckus. The move earned him the ire of a few dislodged men but his impassive stare invited no further complaints – they moved off, grumbling, and left Billy to observe the two men in the ring.

The yelling soon quieted as all attention was focused on the men standing side by side, their targets of tin cans and glass bottles lined up a fair distance away. A third man called out the terms of the competition for the late arrivals and he counted them down with a clear voice before they started shooting in a deafening array of gunfire. Once time was up, between the two of them the men managed to miss a third of the targets and Billy scoffed as the victor collected his reward.

He sneered down at Billy. “What, you think you can do better?”

Billy’s answering grin was as sharp as the knives at his waist.

 

**86\. Bias**

Goodnight was unfairly biased but also entirely justified in his claim that receiving gentle kisses from Billy was the best way to wake up.

 

**87\. Rope**

_Don’t let go of the rope_ , Goodnight thought to himself. _Don’t let go of the rope_. He would have been repeating it aloud still if his teeth did not feel like they were frozen shut.

Goodnight was cold, long past shivering and he tried to ignore the worry that accompanied that realization. There were bigger worries to be concerned with, such as the blizzard that howled frightfully about him and how he could no longer see Billy past the whirl of white in his vision. The wind threatened to knock Goodnight down and it was all he could do to hold onto the rope and hope Billy did the same.

They would have been safe if they stayed put in the small town, but it was Goodnight’s foolish nature that urged them out into the wilderness hours before the winter storm struck. He believed they could outrun any nasty weather and did not have to be stuck for innumerable days boarded up and cold while having to ration out firewood and hope the storm ended before the inn’s supply of matches did. Hindsight showed Goodnight the error of his delusions and he regretted talking Billy into leaving. They would have been fine, Billy would have been safe.

They would have been fine.

Now the blinding white snow blinded Billy and Goodnight despite their sharp eyes and the cold dulled their movements. The howling wind made it impossible to hear one another even while shouting.

Their survival now boiled down to the rope they had stumbled into, quite literally. Staked up about waist height, some helpful soul left a trail long ago for anyone lost in the woods or foolishly stumbling around in a winter storm. The snow was steadily rising as the temperature dropped and Billy and Goody were lucky to have found it. A quick check had determined the rope secure and still helpful in its purpose among the trees but left no apparent clue as to which direction led back to the settlement and survival. Wordlessly, they came to a decision and held strong to it, but after an unknown amount of time without any sign of life or the existence of persons beyond the presence of the rope, Goodnight really hoped it was still the correct choice.

Then he tripped.

Disoriented and sluggish, Goodnight let go of the rope and caught himself on his hands and knees. He took a moment to feel around for the rope and panicked when it wasn’t where it should be. He would be lost, left behind by Billy who had no way of knowing if Goodnight still followed steadily behind or slowly froze to death in the ice.

The thought terrified Goodnight.

Suddenly a firm presence grabbed Goodnight’s hand and pulled him up. Billy. Billy who had one arm free to pull Goodnight close and another to keep a firm grip on the rope. This close, Billy was the only thing in Goodnight’s light of sight and he was an even more welcomed vision than normal. And he was gesturing – Goodnight could just make out the bobbing of his head forward – towards a cabin that lay not too far from their current position. The windows were lit up with warmth and it was a solid goal for the two frozen travelers. Goodnight could have wept in relief and instead he tightened his grip on Billy and helped him move against the wind.

Goodnight would be sure to thank everything he could for Billy, just as soon as his mouth thawed.

 

**88\. History**

Billy had a family once, he thinks. He has vague half-remembered and half-dreamed memories of blurry faces that call him by a different name. That was the past, however. A different time for a different person.

 

**89\. Arrangements**

Goodnight slept best resting his head over Billy’s heart, allowing the steady thump of each beat to lull him into a much needed rest. If it also helped to drown out the flap of owl wings, that was just an additional benefit.

Billy’s sleep was the most secure when he also felt the most secure, wrapped up in Goodnight’s arms with his back warm and protected against whatever dangers awaited him in the night.

Location and frame of mind did not always allow for either arrangement, but that was fine. What Goody and Billy needed most of all was the assurance that they always had each other.

 

**90\. Innuendo**

“ _The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation_ ,” Goody recited, “ _it is odorless_.”

He rested his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes under its shade. Flowers bowed under a slight breeze and shared their aroma along the creek bed. Billy, resting his head on Goodnight’s thigh hummed his encouragement to continue.

“ _It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it_ ,” Goodnight couldn’t help but smile around the words. “ _I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisquised and naked_ (he so loved the slight shiver than ran through Billy), _I am mad for it to be in contact with me_.”

Billy trailed his fingers over Goodnight’s leg.

“ _The smoke of my own breath, a few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms_ ,” Goodnight stroked his fingers through Billy’s hair and watched the play of it on the breeze. Billy laughed, a precious and rare sound, and turned enough to meet Goodnight’s fond gaze.

“You forgot some.”

“I didn’t forget, I just skipped ahead to the good part, my love: _Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems_?” Billy pinched Goodnight’s knee in admonishment. “ _Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems_ –“

“Don’t I already do?”

“ _You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, there are millions of suns left_ ,” Goodnight caught Billy’s hand with a kiss. “ _There was never any more inception than there is now_ ,” he pressed another kiss to Billy’s fingertips. “ _Nor any more youth or age than there is now, and never be any more perfection than there is now_ …” Billy pulled himself up to meet Goodnight’s lips with his own. “ _Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now_.”

The last line lingered on as Goodnight embraced Billy and was embraced in turn on that warm spring afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy’s cowboy coffee recipe from 81 in case you want to try it: [Great Cowboy Coffee](https://driftaway.coffee/how-do-you-make-cowboy-coffee/)
> 
>  
> 
> The, rather edited, poem Goodnight recites in 90 is a part of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself. You can read it in full [here](http://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/27)
> 
> I've had a few questions about how long I will continue writing this/if it's going to end and at this point I don't have any plans for doing so. As long as I'm interested in sitting down and shaking ideas out of my head I'll probably keep working on this. If updates do slow down it's probably because I'm working on one of my longer stories not part of this collection. Regardless, you can expect more from me in the future.:)

**Author's Note:**

> My entirely self-motivated "let's see how this goes" writing goal is to post at least ten short snippets a week of varying length. I have a list of prompts I'm picking and choosing from, but feel free to comment with some one word prompts and see what comes of it~


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